


The Ever Odder Machinations of the Human Heart

by aceofsparrows



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV), Call the Midwife
Genre: Anne is an orphan at the Nonnatus orphanage, F/M, Gilbert is Dr. Turner's new apprentice, not series 9 compliant, series 1-8 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofsparrows/pseuds/aceofsparrows
Summary: When the Poplar Maternity Home and Nonnatus House decide to launch a new childcare program, it's all hands on deck! It's also a new start for the orphanage's eldest ward, strong-willed and imaginative Anne Shirley, who is sent to Poplar to live and work with the midwives and nuns of Nonnatus. Faced with love, loss, and plenty of scrapes, it's business as usual for all our favorite residents of the East End.DISCONTINUED (see chapter 5 for author note)
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner, Fred Buckle/Violet Buckle, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 27
Kudos: 22





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been binge watching Call the Midwife, and after the Christmas special at the Mother House, this little idea planted itself in my brain and refused to leave. 
> 
> Therefore, enjoy this Anne of Green Gables/Call the Midwife crossover endeavor!
> 
> NOTE: I've decided to make this a series 8 au, as Anne and the other new characters fit rather well into some of the storylines. Therefore, many of the events from the season will be present, as well as new ones featuring the new characters! 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Miss Anne Shirley is given a new purpose

**Christmas, 1963**

Anne Shirley had had it up to _here_ with toddlers. Their grubby, sticky little hands forever soiling the surfaces she worked so tirelessly to clean, their shrill voices always screaming about something or other, whether in play or in anguish; after having spent many an hour looking after countless toddlers, Anne could say safely that she had had her fill. Unfortunately, toddlers were a dime a dozen at the orphanage of the Order of Saint Raymond Nonnatus, and Anne Shirley was a ward of the Order, so she had to care for toddlers whether she liked it or not. 

Today, she felt very much like _not_. 

“Anne! I told you to fetch that hot water ten minutes ago,” Sister Hilda said indignantly, giving Anne a little tap on the shoulder to rouse her from her day-dreaming. 

Anne startled, then looked stricken when she registered what Sister Hilda had said. “Oh, dear…” she moaned, scrambling from her perch on the window seat to stand. “Many apologies, Sister. I had the most wonderful thought about how elegant I would look standing on the shore down there in a long dress like that of the Victorians, my long hair— not red, of course— billowing in the scrumptious sea breeze… it was ever so romantical, Sister Hilda…” She trailed off, glancing longingly out the window before she bowed her head, eyes downcast in shame. “But it seems that my day-dreaming has caused me to shirk my duties, and for that I am ever so sorry. I shall fetch you your hot water at once.” 

“Thank you, Miss Shirley,” Sister Hilda sighed, and shook her head as she watched Anne trot off to the kitchen. “What an odd child she is…” 

It was two days later, on the day of Christmas Eve, when Anne was called into the Mother Superior’s office. She’d just finished scrubbing the front hall’s floor; with the recent unpredicted snow, there had been mud all over the white tile, and they could not have a messy hall at Christmas. Anne worried her hands on the edge of her apron as she stood outside the office, keenly aware of the stains on the hem of her dress and the trail of dried milk upset on her shoulder from one of the babies she’d been feeding that morning. What news could Mother Mildred possibly have for her? Perhaps they had decided that if she were to spend any more time at the Order she should be forced to begin postulant’s training… she sincerely hoped not. 

“Miss Shirley?” Mrs. Turner, the nice woman from Poplar who Anne had once known as Sister Bernadette, poked her head out of the office doorway. “Mother Mildred will see you now, dear.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Anne murmured, and stepped carefully into the office. It was much tidier than it had been the last time she’d been there; Anne supposed Sister Julienne and Mrs. Turner had done quite a bit of organising after Mother Jesu Emmanuel’s passing. 

“Good afternoon, Anne,” Mother Mildred greeted her with a smile. 

Anne bobbed a little bow. “Good afternoon, Mother Mildred.” 

“Sit down, child,” Mother Mildred suggested, and Anne sat. Mother Mildred folded her hands on her desktop, meeting Anne’s eye pleasantly despite her serious tone. 

“As you know, Miss Shirley, Sister Julienne and Sister Winifred are set to return to Nonnatus House in Poplar this evening. As they have been short staffed recently, I have decided to send one of our new sisters, Sister Ruby, with them to help fill the gap left by Nurse Hereward, God rest her soul.” Sister Julienne, who stood near the window, bowed her head briefly, a pained look crossing her face. Anne did not know who Nurse Hereward had been, but it seemed as though her absence was keenly felt. 

“Excuse me, Mother, but what does this have to do with me? If you’re giving me more work I must tell you that I already--” 

“-- I’m sending you with them, Miss Shirley,” Mother Mildred interrupted Anne gently, and Anne frowned. 

“You’re sending me to _Poplar_ , Mother?” She asked, eyes wide, unable to hide her incredulity. Her mind was racing. Why would they send her away? “If this is because I haven’t been kind enough or worked hard enough I swear I can--” 

“-- You have done _more_ than enough, Miss Shirley. You are a hardworking young woman, and I commend you for that, but you’re still a young woman, Anne. You’ve lived and worked at the Mother House for eight-- almost nine-- years and as you have no plans at present of taking the veil any time in the near future, I feel it is in your best interest that you continue your medical education and work with the Sisters at Nonnatus House.” Mother Mildred raised an eyebrow at Anne, and she pursed her lips, keeping quiet for once. “The cars are leaving at half-past five. I suggest you go and pack you things and say your necessary farewells.” 

Anne nodded shortly, stewing inside as she exited the Mother’s office. The Mother House, loathe as she was to many of her duties there, had become the first real home she’d had in her short life. And now they were sending her away? Anne had heard stories about Poplar… she doubted there would be much scope for the imagination in London’s crowded and filthy East End. 

Then again, perhaps she could make friends at Nonnatus house. Anne had never had any friends her age, and even though most of the midwives at Nonnatus House were probably older than her, she knew they were definitely likely to be younger than the nuns she was surrounded by here. 

Her hairbrush, combinations, and three threadbare dresses went in the ancient carpet bag, as well as her good apron and a pair of summer stockings. She wondered if they’d give her nylons in Poplar… she’d never owned a pair of nylons; they were a luxury she’d never been afforded. 

Downstairs Sister Julienne, Sister Winifred, and Mrs. Turner were helping to shepherd everyone to the cars. Anne was sorry she’d missed the children’s Christmas pageant, but supposed it was just as well. She waved goodbye from the foyer, kissing the childrens’ heads and promising to write, despite the fact that few of them can even read or write themselves. 

“It’s time to go, Miss Shirley,” Sister Julienne said softly, a hand on Anne’s shoulder. Anne nodded, giving one last wave to the assembled children. 

“Goodbye, everyone! I shall remember you always!” 

As the bright blue station wagon drove away from the Mother House down the gravel drive, Anne couldn’t help but feel as though she was embarking upon a great journey, perhaps one of the greatest of her life. Poplar, here she came. 


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Anne finds herself acquainted with the residents of Nonnatus House, Poplar, and her work begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, updating on time! Hopefully this will not be the first and last time that happens... 
> 
> Speaking of updating schedules, this fic is going to have one! (unlike my previous fics.. lol) Sundays are update days! I declare it officially. For any further news, feel free to check out my tumblr, @marble-halls. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Boxing Day, 1963**

_Every day dawns anew, every day begins afresh. We seek to be cleaner, brighter, more polished versions of ourselves. The stains of yesterday are gone, our worst indulgences erased. We will be better. We will be beyond reproach. We will strive to be perfect, leave nothing to chance and believe that everything is possible._

*** * ***

It is always a rude awakening one has when one wakes in a new environment for the first time, whether that environment be itself rude or not. Thus, Anne’s awakening at Nonnatus House on Boxing Day was one of both rudeness and possibility. 

Dressed in her wool stockings and best dress (which was still rather shabby, but the only thing she owned that was her own and not the nuns’), she tiptoed down the big staircase, following the voices below. The scent of baked goods lingered in the air, but she did not find anyone at the breakfast table when she arrived, nor anyone in the kitchen. 

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Anne muttered to herself, feeling quite like Alice down the rabbit hole. She frowned, then retraced her steps back through the long hallway until she came upon a vestibule tucked away along the lower hallway, with a phone and a set of wall cubbies and a large chalkboard that read “ _Call Board_ ”. The voices were in the next room. Anne stopped just outside the door, pausing to listen. 

“And might I enquire as to whether Her Majesty is expecting to undergo her confinement attended by the midwives of Nonnatus House?” Said one. 

A chorus answered her. “No, Nurse Crane.” 

“Because if she isn’t likely to tip up at the Institute waving a jam jar full of urine and wanting to know where her milk tokens are,” the first voice-- Nurse Crane, it seemed-- continued while the others giggled at her insinuations, “I suggest we move on to the morning’s task in hand. Namely, the preparation and deployment of these new bags.” 

There was a bit of shuffling and another voice spoke, clear and self-important. 

“I’ve wanted a wipe-clean interior for years,” she said, and Anne scrunched up her nose at the thought. Had they not had easily-cleaned bags before? Good gracious. 

“Pray, what will become of the discarded bags?” Asked another, older voice, and Anne closed her eyes in an effort to soothe her quickening heart rate. What was she thinking, about to walk into a room full of women she knew none of the names of? Perhaps she should just go back upstairs and find herself some toast or something; after all, the nuns had taught her that eavesdropping was never to be rewarded, even if it seemed so at the time. 

However, curiosity got the better of her, and she stayed where she was. “They do rather become an extension of one’s arm,” replied the self-important voice reproachfully.  
“Fred is going to burn them down on his allotment,” Nurse Crane said swiftly. “One of them was yours, Sister, before it was Sister Winifred’s, which means it was probably in harness the night that you were born, Valerie.” 

_Valerie_. Finally another name! Anne leaned forward slightly, nose almost in line with the edge of the doorframe, hoping for a glance into the next room without anyone seeing her. 

“Time for a change, then, I reckon,” the woman who Anne supposed was Valerie replied. 

“Indeed,” agreed Nurse Crane, and Anne leaned a little bit further. “Now, onto morning assignments. Nurse Franklin, you’re--” Anne’s stockinged foot slipped on the slick wood floor and she fell forward in a jumble of pointy limbs, making her embarrassing and rather grand entrance into the room. 

“Oh, goodness!” Nurse Crane exclaimed as Anne crashed to the floor rather unceremoniously, her cheeks already aflame with rose-tinted shame. “Are you alright there, lass?” 

Anne sighed, rising slowly from her hands and knees, palms smarting. “Quite fine, thank you. I’m horribly sorry, I know it’s ever so wicked of me to eavesdrop, but I was so very afraid of interrupting you-- which I guess I’ve done now, so that’s completely daft of me-- and I wanted to get to know you but I didn’t know if I should even be down here and--” 

“It’s quite alright, dear, nothing to be ashamed of,” Nurse Crane interrupted Anne’s ramblings with a smile and an outstretched hand. “Come in properly and say hello.” Anne stood, ignoring Nurse Crane’s hand, frowning. She eyed the three women standing on one side of the long table in the medical room, and cautiously made her way to the other side of the counter, absently rubbing her palms together in an effort to stop the stinging. 

“You’re the girl from the Mother House, right?” One of the nurses asked, the one with the posh voice. 

Anne nodded. “I am.” 

“I’m Nurse Franklin, but you can call me Trixie.” She smiled at Anne, but her smile faltered when Anne remained stone-faced in return. Trixie Franklin was everything Anne had hated when she was younger: blonde, blue-eyed, perky, and self-important. 

“I’m Nurse Anderson,” said the woman on the left of Trixie, and when she smiled, it was smaller and more genuine. “You may also call me Lucille, if you like,” she added, and Anne nodded. Lucille looked like a practical but kind woman, with a round, open face and dark, gentle eyes. She had an accent too, different from the other various English ones Anne had heard, and Anne wondered where she had grown up.

“And I’m Nurse Dyer,” the woman on the right said, nodding to Anne. “You can call me Valerie, or Val. Most do.” Ah, so this was Valerie. 

“You’re from Poplar, aren’t you?” Anne asked, and Valerie managed to look surprised for only a moment before she smiled slightly and nodded. 

“I am, yes. Grew up right on the docks like a real Poplar gal.” 

“I heard you talking, about the bags,” Anne said by way of explanation, pointing to the blue mesh case Valerie was holding. “Nurse Crane said you were delivered by one of the nuns here.” 

“Yes, I was. It was Sister Monica Joan, actually.” Valerie tilted her head toward the back of the room, and Anne followed her gaze. A very old nun, perhaps the eldest nun Anne had ever seen besides Mother Jesu Emmanuel, sat at the far end of the room, a large blanket in her hands. 

“I should think that we would want to keep those items which we treasure most close at hand, not dispose of them the very moment they become obsolete, Nurse Crane,” Sister Monica Joan said carefully, looking past Anne to where Nurse Crane stood at the head of the room. She shook her head, looking troubled. Then she smiled at Anne. “Hello, Miss…” 

“Shirley, Sister. Anne Shirley.” 

“Hello, Miss Shirley. Have you read Keats?” 

Anne blinked. “What?” 

*** * ***

“I don’t see why I can’t be useful,” Anne muttered, finishing off a row of knitting rather forcefully. She began a new row of loose, sloppy loops, needles clacking with indignation. “I saw how the mud gets tracked in on the front hall floor; I could be doing something valuable right now, instead of sitting here knitting like some doddering old codger!” She huffed, then paused, glancing sideways at Sister Monica Joan. “No offense, Sister.” 

“None taken, my dear,” the Sister replied, squinting at an out-of-place thread on the quilt square she was sewing. “I have often lamented the unnecessary nature of handicrafts for those who seem to be thrown by the wayside amidst all the work of the day as you and I have. I would like to be of service in more than just time-wasting folly!” 

“My thoughts exactly,” Anne sighed. She glared at her knitting again, then dropped it onto her lap. “I’m going to speak to Sister Julienne. I want to know why they brought me here if they were just going to make me sit around all day.” 

She stood, marching out of the sitting room and toward the Sister’s office. The door was ajar-- Sister Julienne had returned not an hour ago from her daily rounds-- and Anne didn’t even knock as she entered. 

“I was perfectly happy at the Mother House!” 

Sister Julienne looked up from her paperwork, startled. “Miss Shirley, how good of you to--” 

“I was _needed_ at the Mother House! I-- I cleaned, and I minded the children and I earned my keep, and I don’t see the purpose in taking me away from the place that I’ve lived fairly agreeably for almost nine _years_ to come _here_ , where I have nothing to do but sit and _knit_ like some useless old lady and I’m miserable and I know no one and I--” 

“Miss _Shirley_ ,” Sister Julienne said firmly, standing, and Anne stopped, biting her lip in reproach. “Thank you.” She sat, and Anne sat carefully in the chair across from her. “I know it must seem very irrational, you being brought here and given nothing to do when we told you that there was more work to be done then there were women to do it, but you must understand that we are not neglecting you out of spite, nor are you being held against your will. You most definitely of age, and you have been offered a chance to leave, but as you have stayed and trained with the Order until now, I would advise against striking out on your own before you have at least endeavored to properly adjust to life here at Nonnatus House.”

She gave Anne a look, and Anne nodded reluctantly. The Sister smiled, then continued in a softer tone. 

“You’re young, Anne, and you’re not even fully trained as a nurse yet. However, you _have_ worked with children more than even the most qualified of midwives, and it is those valuable skills that we plan to put to use. We’ve been swamped in recent weeks with our new childcare program during and after clinic, and as we’re short-staffed of midwives currently, we need someone to help watch the older children that the mothers bring with them to clinic, as well as lead some of our Mothercraft classes.” 

“Oh,” Anne said, voice small. “But why do you think I can do that? All I did with the children at the Mother House really was feed and wash and mind them. I’ve never taught any sort of classes, and you yourself said I’m not even fully trained as a nurse. How would anyone trust me?” 

Sister Julienne smiled. “I have every faith in you, Miss Shirley. Mother Jesu always spoke so highly of you in her calls, even when you had just come to the Mother House many years ago. She had many praises to sing about your skills with children as well as your work ethic, and I hope that you do her proud here at Nonnatus House.” 

Anne nodded. “Yes, Sister, me as well.” Presuming the meeting over, Anne stood to leave, but Sister Julienne called after her just as she reached the door.

“And Anne?” 

She turned. “Yes, Sister?” 

“If you’re feeling lonely, I encourage you to socialize with the other midwives who board here. They are all lovely women, and I’m sure they will welcome you with open arms. You’re a young woman, Anne, and it is only right that you should begin to open yourself to the wider world. I think it might have quite a lot in store for you.” 

*** * ***

Anne didn’t sleep right away that night, despite shutting herself in her room almost as soon as dinner had finished. Instead she sat on her bed in her faded, too-short nightgown, knees tucked up to her chest, listening to the voices of the midwives carrying on in the room next to her. They seemed happy enough, perhaps even untouched by their day of work, and although she could not hear their conversations distinctly, her hungry, imaginative mind filled in the blanks just as well. 

They talked of the men and women they had visited, she supposed. The mothers with too many children, the fathers who worked at the docks or in the textile and paint factories. They talk of the the old people with all sorts of maladies that came with age and experience that they had humored, nodding along to stories of war and their youth as they changed their ulcer dressings or tended to their aching joints. It was not glamorous work, that Anne knew, but the nurses seemed to do it with optimism and even enjoyment. Would Anne feel such fulfillment when she became a nurse? She didn’t know. Perhaps it wasn’t something you knew right away, like the postulants did with taking the veil. Perhaps it was something that you found a calling to only after years of study and practice. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps… 

Suddenly thirsty, Anne slipped from her room and crept down the grand staircase and long hallway towards the kitchen, hoping everyone else was otherwise occupied and she would be bother no one. Unfortunately that was not the case, as she heard the contrasting voices of Nurse Crane and Trixie float from the kitchen as she neared the dining room. 

“I saw it all with Mother,” said Nurse Crane, and Anne heard a trickle of water she thought might be being poured from a kettle into a mug. She hoped so; some tea would be perfect just about now. 

“Fear is never just fear, though, is it Phyllis?” Trixie sighed. _Phyllis?_ Anne thought. _What a dreadfully unromantic first name… No wonder she didn’t tell me it this morning!_ “If it was, I wouldn’t be down here with my shoe collection while Lucille and Valerie have a rum-laced hot chocolate in the bedroom.” Ah, so that was why they had sounded so merry; spirits had been involved with the nurses’ conversation. Why Trixie, who seemed the most good-times inclined of the group, was down here voluntarily made Anne wonder…

There was a pause, and then Anne heard Nurse Crane sigh. “I… I stand corrected.” When the conversation did not continue, Anne decided it was as good a time as any to enter the room, loathe as she was to striking out into territory where she did not know whether she would be wanted. She rounded the door frame casually but cautiously, stockinged feet quiet on the floor. 

“Excuse me,” she said clearly, and Trixie looked up from where she was shining a patent-leather heel. Nurse Crane-- _Phyllis_ \-- glanced at Anne as well from her mug of tea. “Might I have some of that tea?” 

“Of course, dear,” Phyllis smiled, retrieving another mug from the cabinet. “Couldn’t sleep, lass? Do tell Lucille and Valerie if they’re keeping you up; it’s the Great Silence for the nuns but the girls can get a bit loud if they’re not reminded.” 

“They’re fine, Nurse Crane,” Anne said, accepting the mug of tea the older woman extended to her but remaining standing awkwardly near the stove. “It’s nice, actually, to have someone to listen to in the next room. I’ve been among nuns and small children so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to be in the company of those who are up after dark.” A small, private smile played across Anne’s lips, and Trixie set down her shoe. 

“How long did you live at the Mother House? Sister Julienne mentioned you were one of the orphanage’s wards…” 

Anne’s gaze flicked to Trixie, then down at her tea. “I was born in Nova Scotia, Canada. Neighbors claim my parents were Scottish immigrants who came over during the war, but I don’t really know. They died when I was six months old; our neighbor, Mrs. Thomas, raised me as one of her own until I was six or seven and could be hired out as a helper to someone else in town.” 

She looked up from her drink to find both Phyllis and Trixie looking at her, but was surprised to find not a trace of pity in their eyes. Perhaps it was their line of work, or perhaps is was that they truly knew at least a little of what she had gone through. Either way, it was the first time she had shared she story that the listeners had reflected back compassion and not pity or hurt, and it spurred her on. 

“I started living with the Hammonds when I was almost eight. I was their live-in help, responsible for caring for the young children-- of which there were four at the time-- and helping her to cook and clean. 

“The conditions were terrible, and Mrs. Hammond was a mean-spirited mistress; I could never do anything right, not in the six years I was there. She had had three sets of twins by the time I left when I was almost fourteen, four of whom lived, and two of whom came much too early and came out dead. I was glad to leave too; Mr. Hammond had died of a heart attack, and Mrs. Hammond couldn’t afford to keep me so she gave all of her children to the local asylum in Hopetown and sent me to the convent. I was lucky to meet the nuns there, and even luckier that they sent me here to England and the Mother House.” 

Trixie bit her lip, shaking her head. “You’re a very brave girl, Anne. To have all that responsibility that early, and to have witnessed such a lot at so young. I know how you must have felt, I really truly do.” She smiled a small smile at Anne, and to her surprise Anne found herself returning it. It seemed as though Trixie really did know what Anne was talking about, what she had seen, and Anne decided in that moment that she would like Trixie much better now than she had before. There was more than met the eye under that red lip and perfect nail varnish, she was sure of it. 

“I’m just glad you’re here now, Anne,” Phyllis said, and Anne took the hand that she offered. “You seem like a very bright young girl, and I think you’ll fit right in. We’ve all had our fair share of ups and down here at Nonnatus, but we always come out the other side better for it, don’t we Trixie?” 

“That we do, Phyllis.” 

“Aye. And you’ll come out better for it too, Anne, just you wait. Welcome.” 

Anne smiled. What a warm welcome it was indeed. 


	3. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which new friendships are strengthened, and an enemy is made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! Only a day late! Sorry about the delay... I had very little time to edit this weekend. I also didn't get a chance to have my beta look at it, so any mistakes left in this one are on me! (oof)
> 
> Enjoy!

**January 1964**

“Are you absolutely sure that’s the best you’ve got?” Trixie frowned, trying not to let her disappointment creep into her voice. Anne glanced down at the faded green dress she was wearing, brow furrowing as well. 

“Yes, why?” 

“Well it’s… rather outdated.” Trixie turned, lifting a magazine from her bedside table. It was the _Ladies’ Home Journal_ , and Anne glimpsed a woman wearing a ridiculously large white feathered hat on the cover before Trixie flipped to a dog-eared page and turned the magazine to show Anne a glossy spread. “This is what everyone’s wearing now. Obviously, we wear something more conservative for work here at Nonnatus, but unfortunately I fear that if you go to clinic with that… _lovely_ old dress on, you might get eaten alive.” She sighed, biting her lip and crossing the room to her own wardrobe. 

“This one might fit, I think. It’s a few years old, but at least it’s of the decade. I’d hate for you to be accosted for going out in a ‘56.” She revealed a pink dress, straighter than Anne’s but still with a bit of flare in the skirt. It was cute and practical, not too flashy, but Anne shook her head vehemently. 

“No. Most certainly not.” 

Trixie raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” 

Anne crossed her arms. “It’s pink.” 

“So?” 

“Pink is a wretched color on me. My complexion is not well suited to such a rosy hue, and it makes my awful red hair stand out most unflatteringly. I have sworn never to wear pink, and I shall stand by it.” She turned up her nose, and Trixie shook her head. 

“Alright then. I guess you’ll just have to borrow a blouse and a pair of my trousers and go to clinic in that. They’ll be easier to move in anyway, I suppose. Hopefully no one will look at you funny then.” She replaced the dress in the wardrobe, and took at pair of powder blue slacks from the hanger, folding them over one arm. “I don’t wear these anymore, so you can try them on and I’ll take them in if need be. I suspect so; you’re slighter than I am, and your legs are longer.” 

Anne eyes widened. “Slacks? Why, I’ve never even worn slacks before. Are you sure they’re decent?” 

Trixie chuckled. “I didn’t take you for someone with easily offended sensibilities, but I suppose living with nuns from a young age can do that to a girl. Yes, Anne, you’ll be perfectly decent.” 

“Alright,” Anne acquiesced, but she took the slacks with more care than was needed, eyeing them suspiciously. “May I change here, or do you want me to go back to my room? I’m just wearing my combinations under this old thing.” 

“You can change here,” Trixie smiled, and Anne nodded, setting the slacks on Nurse Dyer’s coverlet and unbuttoning her dress with deft fingers. She pulled it over her head, wondering if it would be the last time she wore the well-loved item. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

The trousers fit well, and Trixie was able to recover a rather fetching little white blouse from Valerie’s chest for Anne to wear with them. Standing in front of the picture-frame mirror over the chest of drawers in her new outfit (complete with a pair of Lucille’s old black ballet flats), Anne wasn’t quite sure what to make of the girl-- the _woman_ \-- staring back at her. It was the same woman who had left the Mother House almost two weeks ago… the same wild red hair, the same wide mouth, the same limpid grey-green eyes… but it seemed as though she had become someone else in these second-hand clothes, someone both new and old, someone different and maybe even a little exciting. 

Trixie stood behind her, a small and satisfied smile on her lips. “You look lovely, Anne.” 

“Thank you,” Anne replied distractedly, tilting her head slightly and smoothing a stray wrinkle in the front of the trousers. 

“Now, would you like me to do anything with your hair or--”

“No, thank you,”Anne said quickly, fingers clutching the ends of her long plaits in defense. “I want to keep them.” 

“Alright,” Trixie nodded, then turned away. “You can go down to breakfast without me; I still have to take out my curlers.” 

Anne nodded, taking her old green dress from the bed and leaving the room in a hurry. It was a new day, and she was a new Anne. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps… 

*** * ***

“No, no, no, we do _not_ put those in our mouth, Ritchie!” Anne warned, pulling the wooden block away from the toddler. “They’re not tasty, so they don’t go in our mouth.” 

The little boy, probably no more than two and a half years old, scrunched up this face, and Anne sighed. He burst into tears, a loud, grating sound, and Anne closed her eyes, muttering a quick curse-- or as close to a curse as she could get, given her limited knowledge of curse _words_ \-- and shifted the infant she was balancing on her hip. 

“Ritchie… Ritchie, sweety, let’s not cry, maybe? Please, Ritchie, please be a good boy just a little longer until Mummy comes back from her examination…” She shushed the boy, but had little success. Meanwhile, the baby in her arms had picked up on young Ritchie's distress and was starting to fuss itself, its tiny face reddening like a volcano seconds from eruption. 

“Anne, is everything alright over here?” It was Nurse Dyer-- Valerie-- with a jar of urine in her hand and a worried expression on her pretty face. 

Anne glanced up at her, smile wide and strained. “Oh, just peachy, Nurse Dyer. Good thing there’s only two children here today… I seem to be out of practice." 

“Would you like me to look at that baby, Anne?” Valerie frowned, eyeing the rather harsh patch of red on the baby’s cheek. Anne shook her head. 

“No, it’s not a rash, I checked. Looks like Baby’s just started teething a bit late and isn’t very happy about it, that’s all. I’ll go get her a nice cool washcloth once I’ve settled Ritchie.” 

Valerie nodded. “Alright then. This sample belongs to Ritchie’s mum, so she should be done soon. Think you can hold out?” 

“Of course.” 

“Good. Holler if you need anything.” Valerie continued on her way, and Anne bit her lip, turning back to the now-snivelling toddler. Ritchie had mostly cried himself out and was now snuffling and whimpering about the loss of his block. Anne sighed. 

“Come on, Ritchie, let’s go see if Miss Higgins has a surprise for you, eh?” She stood carefully from the uncomfortable squat she had been in, and took Ritchie by the hand. They crossed the hall slowly, finally reaching Miss Higgins’ desk just as the heavily pregnant woman she was checking in waddled away. Anne couldn’t help but let her gaze linger for a moment; the woman was much larger than usual. 

Miss Higgins was smiling about something, and Anne tore her attention away from the curious woman and back to the moment at hand. 

“Hello, Miss Higgins. Ritchie here was wondering if he could have one of your little barley sugars. He’s been a very good boy but he misses his mum.” 

Miss Higgins stood up to smile at the toddler on the other side of her desk. “Of course, darling. Mind you, barley sugars are not for everyday consumption, but as he’s been such a good boy I don’t see why he can’t have one just this once.” She gave Anne an understanding look, and Anne mouthed her thanks as Miss Higgins handed the small child his candy. 

“Thank you, Miss Higgins,” Anne nodded, and Miss Higgins returned the gesture. Anne saw Valerie out of the corner of her eyes helping a nice-looking woman out of one of the examination areas. 

“Run along to Mummy, Ritchie,” she said gently, and gave him a little pat on the back in the right direction. She watched the toddler go for a moment, then turned toward the kitchen. The baby in her arms was fussing again, and it seemed high time for that cold washcloth. 

Trixie was in the kitchen, washing a few instruments, and she was chatting with a man Anne didn’t know. He must have been a doctor; he was wearing a white lab coat and dress slacks and was testing a urine sample like an old hat. 

“I didn’t expect my first order of business to be burning urine, but I suppose that’s just it,” he chuckled and Trixie smiled. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of other _lovely_ things to do once we put you to work properly, Mr. Blythe.” 

“I have no doubt,” he said, smiling and shaking his head, and Anne lingered in the doorway, brow furrowed. Who was this man? He wasn’t a doctor-- Trixie had called him Mister-- so who was he and why was he doing urine samples? Maybe he was a male nurse? Anne had never seen one, but then again, Anne had lived in a convent for the past eight and a half years. She hadn’t seen much of outside world at _all_ recently. 

There was a lull in conversation, and Anne willed herself into the room. She smiled at Trixie as she neared the sink, taking a clean washcloth from the pile on the counter. 

“This little one is teething; I need a cold washcloth for her,” she explained and Trixie looked sympathetic. 

“Aww, poor dear. Teething can be so terrible. She’s almost nine months, isn’t she?” Anne nodded, running the washcloth under the tap. “That’s awfully late to start cutting teeth, little one. No wonder you’re hurting.” 

The baby whimpered, and Anne wrapped the now-wet washcloth around two fingers, gently nuzzling it into the baby’s mouth. It gummed them happily, cooing. 

Satisfied the baby was well taken care of, Trixie went back to her washing. However, just as Anne was about to turn and leave, Trixie stopped her. “Oh, Anne, I almost forgot! You haven’t met Dr. Turner’s new assistant yet.” She gestured to the man standing on her other side, and Anne raised her eyebrows. 

“He’s finishing his training to be a doctor, so he’s here to help out at the practice, clinic, and maternity home for the next year or so.” Trixie smiled at the man, and Anne nodded her head in acknowledgement, still unsure what to make of him. 

“Mr. Gilbert Blythe, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He stuck out a hand, but quickly withdrew it when he realised Anne had both of her hands otherwise occupied. “And you are?” 

Anne drew herself up to her full height (which, infuriatingly, was still an inch or two shorter than Gilbert’s) and gave him her best disinterested air. “Miss Anne Shirley.” 

“Anne…” Gilbert mused, smiling a little as he said it, hazel eyes dancing. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” _And he winked_. 

Anne, shocked at his audacity, huffed. “Twat,” she muttered, and stalked out of the room, nose upturned. As far as first impressions went, she did _not_ like Gilbert Blythe one bit. 

*** * ***

Wednesday night was Keep Fit night, and Anne, for once, was quite looking forward to it. Although it had been odd to get use to over the last few weeks (the uniform was tighter and more revealing than anything she’d ever worn, and at first it had made her very self-conscious about the way her knees and elbows and hip stuck out), she was glad now for the brief respite from the busy days that it gave her. 

Unfortunately, all her hopes were dashed the moment she and Trixie and Lucille and Valerie stepped into the hall of the Institute. 

“Dreadfully sorry, ladies,” said a voice from the front of the room, and Anne scowled when she found it belonged to Mr. Gilbert Blythe. “I didn’t know anyone else was using the hall tonight. I can clear out in a few minutes, I promise.” 

“Of course,” Trixie said, not seeming to be much bothered by Gilbert’s unplanned presence. “Although if I may ask, what are you doing, Mr. Blythe?” 

Trixie was right to be confused. The floor of the hall was littered with paper, and although there seemed to be some sort of loose organizational system, what exactly it was organizing was a mystery to the on-looker. 

“Oh, yes, sorry, should have led with that, I suppose.” He stood straight, grinning at the ladies across the sea of paper. “Nurse Turner asked me to put together the pamphlets for the Mothercraft class tomorrow, and as my accommodations have very little room for an operation of this scale and the hall has such good acoustics, I thought I’d come and do it here. I brought my record player and everything, since one must always have the proper soundtrack for an endeavor of this scale, I think.” 

Trixie, though still looking rather perplexed, smiled. “Of course. Well, our class starts in about” she consulted the clock on the wall “twenty minutes, so if you could be cleaned up in ten, we should have no issue at all.” She gave him a quick smile and a nod, and he set about gathering his pamphlets. Anne and the ladies followed Trixie toward the check-in window, Lucille and Valerie whispering amongst themselves, occasionally glancing back at Gilbert. Anne set her jaw stoically, willing herself not to look back at the man. Gilbert was not worth her time, certainly not after how he had behaved when they met the day before. 

Fifteen minutes passed, and soon the floor was set up for class and women were starting to arrive. Anne, who was on check-in duty today, nodded to the women as they came in, smiling as they chatted and gathered their materials for class. It was a hula hoop day, and Anne reminded them each to collect one from Valerie, as well as a colored stretching band they used for leg work. 

Finally, the clock struck the hour and Trixie called the class to order. Anne, setting her clipboard on the counter and collecting her hula hoop and rubber band, took her place at the back of the throng. Valerie and Lucille were up front, but Anne preferred to stay at the back where no one could watch her but Trixie. She did not think herself very graceful, and she’d never been one for showing off anyway. 

However, even as class began in earnest and she settled into the rhythm of the exercises, Anne couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her from behind. She resisted the urge to turn around and look; if there _was_ someone watching her, she would not give them the satisfaction of a reaction. 

“Anne, hey, Anne!” 

Anne drew in a sharp breath through her nose. Ah, so someone _was_ watching her. The urgent whisper was that of Gilbert Blythe, Anne could tell, and that fact made her want to turn around even less. Perhaps if she simply ignored him he would lose interest and go away. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

“Psst, _Anne_ !” He called again, but Anne did not turn. They began an exercise with pumping their fists one at time across their bodies, and Anne curled her fists tightly, punching with the sort of vigor she knew vaguely would leave her sore the next morning. _Left, right, left, right, left_ \-- 

“Anne, _psst_ , Anne!” Gilbert was right behind her now, so close she could feel his breath on her shoulder, and yet she still did not turn. 

“Oi, _Carrots_!” Gilbert yanked on one of her long braids and Anne snapped, whirling and punching Gilbert clean across the jaw.

“You mean, hateful boy! How dare you?!” She shouted, and Gilbert stumbled backwards, a hand on his smarting jaw. Impossibly, he was still grinning. 

Up at the front of the room, Trixie had stopped and was watching the ordeal in the back with disappointment. 

“Miss Shirley, would you please move yourself and your things up here by Nurse Dyer and Nurse Anderson?” Trixie said carefully, and Anne nodded, gathering her hula hoop and rubber band quickly. She glanced back at Gilbert once more; he mouthed “sorry”, laughter in his eyes, and she turned sharply, nose in the air. 

Trixie patted Anne on the back when she reached the front of the room, and then the older woman turned her attention to the man at the back. 

“Mr. Blythe, I request that you leave now, as you have no business here, and if you linger any longer I may be inclined to tell Dr. Turner about this unfortunate incident." 

“Of course, Nurse Franklin; I was just leaving,” Gilbert replied, and he shrugged on his coat and hat and left through the double doors, the ladies of Keep Fit whispering after him. 

Anne folded her arms across her chest, face petulant. “I shall never forgive Gilbert Blythe for as long as I live,” she muttered, her knuckles starting to smart from the blow they had unexpectedly dealt. 

“I can’t blame you,” Valerie agreed in a low voice, and Trixie called the class back to order. 

“Alright ladies, I think it’s time for some hula hooping, don’t you?” 

Anne couldn't agree more. 


	4. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a rivalry blossoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making it my goal this month to update all of my multichapter fics, so here we are! I don't know when the next update will be, but I hope you enjoy this (shorter than usual) chapter! I'm setting the stage for another iconic AoGG moment to come, and hoping to introduce some new characters soon! (Ruby, as well as Diana, perhaps??) 
> 
> Enjoy!

**January 1964**

Anne was avoiding Gilbert Blythe at all costs. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working very well. 

It had been almost a week since the incident at Keep Fit, and Anne had felt her pride keenly bruised in wake of the humiliating display. What did the mothers think of her, punching the young, handsome new doctor for such a small (though personally affronting) misunderstanding? She had hoped, desperately, that Trixie would not tell Sister Julienne of the incident, lest she be sent back to the Mother House just as she was starting to feel useful here, and it seemed as though the blonde had kept quiet. Perhaps the nurses liked her more than she had thought? 

It was a cold Tuesday, and Anne had just returned to Nonnatus House after clinic for a cup of hot tea. She unwound her scarf from around her neck absently, humming a tune she’d heard on the radio that morning. The lyrics drifted through her mind, tangling with the shopping list for tomorrow.  _ You don’t own me (sugar, two pounds of flour) I’m not just one of your many toys… _ Caught in her daydream, she didn’t hear Nurse Crane call her name until she repeated herself for a third time. 

“ _ Miss Shirley _ !” 

Anne blinked, turning. “Yes, Nurse Crane?” 

“A few of our instruments got packed up in the wrong box after clinic today. Will you take this list to the maternity home and fetch them for me?” 

Anne nodded, smiling despite the fact that she was loathe to go out again so quickly into the cold when she hadn’t even made it to the kitchen yet for her tea. 

“Of course, Nurse Crane.” 

She took the list, rewrapped her scarf, and hurried out the door once more. Maybe Mrs. Turner would offer her a cup of tea at the maternity home…

Cycling through the district that afternoon, Anne was in unusually good spirits. Despite the cold that bit at her nose and the tips of her ears, the day seemed so fresh and full of promise. Poplar was becoming more and more familiar to her with every passing day, and she smiled at the women and children she saw on the street who she knew from clinic. Maybe, after all, this could become another home. There was more scope for the imagination here than she had been expecting; the cobbled streets reminded her sorely of Hopetown and Nova Scotia, making her miss those early years before the Hammonds and the Mother House. 

Anne leant her bicycle up against the fence in front of the maternity home, entering briskly and sighing at the warm interior of the practice. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Higgins,” she greeted the older woman at the reception desk, and Miss Higgins nodded at her politely. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Shirley.” 

“I’m here about some things that got mixed up after clinic, Miss Higgins,” Anne said. “Where might I find the storeroom?” 

“Just through there, dear.” Miss Higgins pointed to a little hallway straight ahead, and Anne nodded. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

The hallway gave way to a little corridor, and there were several doors; the closest read  _ Private _ , the next  _ Nursery _ , and the third, finally,  _ Storeroom _ . Anne pushed open that door, list in hand, but stopped when she saw who was in the room. 

“Gilbert Blythe. What a very  _ unpleasant _ surprise.” Anne narrowed her eyes at the man, who looked up from where he was counting pipettes. 

“Miss Shirley,” he said, eyes wide in slight surprise, and seemed only slightly saddened by Anne’s frosty greeting. 

“Some of the Nonnatus House instruments were packed in the maternity home box after clinic,” Anne said stiffly, holding out her list. “This is a list of what needs to be returned.” 

“Of course,” Gilbert said, taking the list from Anne carefully, giving her a lingering look. Anne huffed. 

“Anyway. I’ll be taking them back, so if you would be so kind as to sort them now, that would be much appreciated.” Gilbert nodded, and Anne turned to leave. With any luck, she could still catch Mrs. Turner for that cup of tea. 

“Anne, wait!” Gilbert called, and Anne stopped.  _ Blast it. _ “I… I’m sorry about the other day, at Keep Fit. I didn’t mean to upset you, honest.” 

Anne stayed facing away from him, considering whether it was worth it to respond. Finally, she did. 

“You have committed a grave offence against me, Gilbert Blythe. My hair, my one true sorrow, has been mocked,  _ in public _ , and I have sworn not to forgive you as long as I live.” 

“I see,” Gilbert sighed. When he said no more, Anne took it as a sign she had had the last word (as she should) on the the matter, and turned up her nose, stalking out of the storeroom. The audacity of that man! She had been right to ignore him. 

*** * ***

“I don’t know if we should be letting Sister Monica Joan watch that program,” Lucille said a few evenings later as the nurses washed and dried the dishes from dinner in the kitchen. Anne was on putting-away duty, and only half-listening to their conversation. “Those new metal things are going to give her horrors for weeks.” 

“I think it’s fine,” Valerie assured Lucille, handing her a dish to dry. “Sister Monica Joan delights in those sorts of fantasy programs. And after all, what else is she going to watch on a Saturday evening? I say, until we see the harm, we shouldn’t do anything about it. What do you think, Anne?” She looked at Anne, who was staring at a spot where the paint on the cupboard had chipped off. “Anne?” 

“What? Oh, sorry.” Anne blinked, taking the now-dry plate from Lucille and stowing it on the rack in the cupboard. “What were you saying, Valerie?” 

Valerie gave Anne a look. “It doesn’t matter, really. We were just talking about Sister Monica Joan’s preoccupation with  _ Doctor Who _ .” She frowned. “Where were you, a million miles away?” 

Anne sighed, putting away a glass Lucille had handed her in another cupboard. “If you must know, I was thinking about that Gilbert Blythe. I’ve been avoiding him all I can, but it’s getting harder and harder.” 

Behind Anne’s turned back, the three midwives shared a knowing look. 

“Anne,” Trixie said, stamping out her cigarette on the yellow ash tray in the middle of the table. “You can’t hide from Gilbert forever. And besides, what’s really so terrible about him, anyway. Yes, he said something he shouldn’t have, but he’s young. Young men are always foolish and poor at thinking before they speak.” She rolled her eyes, remembering several…  _ impulsive _ men she’d dated years ago. 

Anne turned, sighing dramatically. “My hair is my greatest and most horrible attribute, out-done only perhaps by my quick and terrible temper. I do not appreciate it being mocked so publicly, nor do I want his attention! I understand your generalisation, Trixie, but it’s far from that simple. I will never forgive Gilbert Blythe, and I would like not so see him so his stupid, handsome face doesn’t mock me.” 

She huffed, annoyed at having to prove her intentions yet again, and strode from the room with heavy steps, all the way up to her bedroom. The midwives watched her go, and when she was sure Anne was out of earshot, Valerie raised an eyebrow. 

“They’re definitely sweet on each other, right?” 

“Oh, definitely,” Trixie and Lucille agreed solemnly with a hint of mirth. 

What an interesting dance this would be to witness indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Your comments and support mean the world :)


	5. a note from the author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a note

##  **This fic will no longer be updated.**

Apologies everyone, but although I love this AU idea, I no longer have the drive nor the time to continue this AU.

The AU will remain here on AO3 if you'd like to reread what there is, and I'm always willing to talk about it if you'd like to send an ask about headcanons or something to my tumblr, @marble-halls! 

Thank you all for you support and patience.

Much love,

\- _Sparrow_

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I am not a midwife, nor a nurse. I try to research what I can, and most of the medical terms/situations are taken straight from the show. Therefore, if I get anything wrong, consider it artistic license.


End file.
